Rejected by the Rogue Alpha Mate

Three days after the rogue attack, I stood before Marcus Grey's desk, my shoulder still aching in its sling but my resolve steel-hard.

"The Blackstone assignment," I said without preamble. "I want it."

Marcus looked up from his patrol reports, his weathered face creasing with concern. "Helena, that's our most dangerous tracking mission. Three rogue packs fighting for control of that territory—"

"Which is exactly why you need someone who can map their movements without being detected." I leaned forward, ignoring the pull in my injured ribs. "I'm the best tracker this pack has. Use me."

"You haven't fully healed from the battle." Clayton's voice came from the doorway, and my wolf stirred at the sound. He stepped into the office, his blue eyes scanning my bandaged form with protective concern. "Give yourself time to recover."

"I don't have time." The words came out sharper than intended. "Every day I sit here being coddled is another day people see me as nothing more than 'the failed Alpha's mate.' I need to prove my worth beyond being Jeremy's political convenience."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken understanding. Marcus exchanged a look with Clayton before nodding slowly.

"Alright. But you take backup communication and check in every six hours. No exceptions."

The Blackstone territory stretched before me like a scar across the landscape—abandoned buildings and overgrown lots where civilization had given up. My wolf's senses came alive as I tracked the layered scents of three different rogue packs marking their contested borders.

I moved like smoke through the ruins, my injured shoulder forgotten as I fell into the rhythm of true tracking. This was who I was meant to be—not some decorative Luna-in-waiting, but a hunter in my own right.

The warehouse squatted at the territory's heart like a concrete beast. Rogue scents converged here in a complex web that told a story of alliance and betrayal. I crept closer, my wolf's ears picking up the low murmur of voices inside.

"—eastern border's weakest after their little skirmish with Moon Shadow," a gravelly voice was saying. "Hit them there and the whole pack crumbles."

My blood chilled. They were planning another attack on Wallace territory.

I memorized every detail—patrol routes, timing, the specific scent signatures of each rogue leader. By the time I slipped away, I had intelligence that would save lives.

The pack warriors' expressions shifted when I delivered my report to Marcus. Where once I'd seen polite dismissal, I now found genuine respect. For the first time in three years, I felt like myself again.

"Outstanding work," Marcus said, and I caught Clayton's proud smile from across the room. My wolf preened under his approval in a way that should have worried me.

The mandatory pack gathering buzzed with celebration of our successful defense. The great hall glittered with fairy lights, and the air hummed with laughter and the clink of glasses. I stood near the wall, nursing a water and trying to ignore the way Jeremy's attention focused entirely on Malayah across the room.

"Helena!" Malayah's voice made my wolf tense. She approached with a bright smile, carrying two glasses of spiced wine. "I've been hoping to talk to you."

I studied her carefully. Everything about her posture screamed false friendliness, but I was tired of conflict, tired of being seen as the bitter rejected mate.

"What about?" I asked warily.

"I wanted to apologize." She offered me one of the glasses, her dark eyes wide with apparent sincerity. "I know my... friendship with Jeremy has caused you pain. I never wanted that."

The wine smelled rich with cinnamon and cloves. My wolf whispered warnings, but my human heart was exhausted from three years of walking on eggshells.

"Peace offering?" Malayah asked, raising her own glass.

Against my better judgment, I accepted the wine and took a sip. It was warm and sweet, with an underlying bitterness that I attributed to the spices.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "This... this has been hard on all of us."

Malayah's smile widened. "I'm so glad you understand. You know, I was thinking we should take a walk. Clear the air properly. The eastern border has such lovely moonlit paths."

Twenty minutes later, the world tilted sideways. My vision blurred at the edges, and heat flushed through my body in waves that had nothing to do with the wine's warmth. My wolf whimpered as poison coursed through our shared bloodstream.

Wolfsbane.

"Come on," Malayah's voice seemed to echo from far away. Her hand gripped my elbow, guiding me through the crowd toward the exit. "Just a little fresh air will help."

My legs moved without my permission, carrying me toward the pack's eastern border—toward the rogue territories I'd just mapped. Through my poisoned haze, I realized with crystal clarity that this was no accident.

Malayah had arranged an ambush.